The Story of Jaclyn Rades
by Rei Firestar
Summary: The Possibles are dead, victims of an explosion at their home. Five years later a website emerges. Kim is alive, living under the alias Jack Trades. Her missions lead her back to crime and to new clues about the deaths of her family. Chapter two up.
1. Prologue: Heaven's A Lie

Allo minna! Haven't posted anything in a while, I know, but since I'm taking creative writing this year maybe I'll get more up. I've been writing but sadly, haven't been posting. I thought I'd try my hand at this but I'm not sure yet how it'll go...if I even continue it from here. You guys let me know what you think, ne?  
  
Disclaimer: Kim Possible is not mine. Sniff Waah ;-;

The Story of Jaclyn Rades  
  
Prologue: Heaven's A LieOnce upon a time my name was Kimberly Ann Possible, and I lived an extraordinary life.  
  
I lived at home with my family. My parents were remarkable - my mother a top nuero-surgeon, my father a rocket scientist. I also had two younger brothers, twin terrors named Jim and Tim. Irritating as any younger brothers may be, I loved them very much. Scuffles aside, my family was generously lovingly.  
  
I went to high school at Middleton High. I maintained very good grades. I was the captain of the cheerleading squad and far from unpopular. But despite all that, my closest friend was a lanky blonde named Ron Stoppable. Everyone thought he was a loser except me. Ron had been my friend since pre-school. He was my support in everything from missions to typical high school drama.  
  
Missions? Oh, yes. Another major part of my unimaginable teenage life. I ran a non-profit service to society via an internet website. 'Kim Possible - I Can Do Anything'; that was my slogan. What went from a sort of jack-of-all-trades attempt at a part-time job exploded into a world of crime fighting. I faced all sorts of crooks, small timers to the criminally insane, but somehow I always managed to come out on top - with Ron always right there by my side. I can honestly say he saved my life just as many times as I saved his.  
  
Everything just seemed right, like somehow things had fallen into permenant place and nothing could ever disrupt my heaven. I would always make good grades, always beat the bad guy, then always celebrate with Ron at Bueno Nacho before always coming home to a warm family.  
  
But I found out one cold day that nothing is ever permenant.  
  
Ron was at my house lounging in front of the television with my brothers, having volunteered to spend the day at my house with me while I babysat. I came downstairs and saw my mother pass by the living room.  
  
"Comfortable there, Ronald?" she asked him teasingly.  
  
He smirked joyfully. "You bet, Mrs. Doctor P."  
  
That's what he called my parents, the Doctors P. They thought it was as cute as I did. She laughed and continued toward the washroom with the bundle of clothes she intended to clean. My father passed her by and gave her a swift peck on the cheek, one arm in his business coat and the other struggling to pull it around behind him.  
  
I stopped and leaned on the rail of the stairwell, watching my parents interact. My mother smiled a gentle, loving smile intended for only my father, which he returned before continuing his conquest over his jacket. So informal but so loving...sometimes I was really in awe of the relationship my parents shared.  
  
He stopped at the front door, adjusting the coat which he'd finally managed to pull on, and stuck his head into the living room.  
  
"You boys behave yourselves while we're gone and listen to your sister."  
  
They nodded in acknowledgement but even from my viewpoint on the stairs I could see them smirk. I groaned inwardly. It wasn't a good sign. My father didn't catch it and went to reach for the doorknob. Then he stopped and I heard him chuckle.  
  
"Be hard to drive to work without my keys," he said to himself. He turned back to head into the kitchen and caught sight of me on the stairs. "Right Kimmie?"  
  
I laughed. My mother, having a sixth sense about these things as all mothers do, came into the hallway and held my father's keys out to him. She smiled at me.  
  
"Kimme I'm about to do start the laundry. Do you have anything you want me to wash?"  
  
"Yeah, sure Mom. One sec."  
  
I turned and started back up the stairs. I could hear my parents' conversation fade away.  
  
"Laundry? Honey are you sure you can finish that and make it to work on time?"  
  
"Well I'm sure I won't be any more late than you will be..."  
  
I opened the door to my room and looked around. Some dirty mission clothes lay in the corner...and on my desk...and next to my window. I laughed at my own untidiness and made my way about the room collecting them. Once catching the last messed shirt from my window sill, I stared out at the sky. It was blanketed by low grey clouds. I watched the trees sway gently in the breeze and sighed softly in distant reverie.  
  
I was startled out of my daze by a steady rumbling around me. The trees were now bent sideways behind tempest winds. I dropped my clothes and started toward the door.  
  
"Mom? Dad?" I called down the stairs.  
  
"What on Earth?" I heard my father's voice proclaim over the raucous trembling of my house.  
  
Then there was chaos. It happened fast, very fast. There was an explosion which was so loud in my ears it was as if my own eardrums had burst. A series of quick cracks and pops came too, as if someone had taken bubblewrap and twisted it next to my ear. Then it was hot. A fervent invisible wall crashed into me out of nowhere and I felt weightless. The blast of heat pushed me into forced flight and I felt myself catapult out through my window. Shards of glass sent slashes along my body. The sting was only worsened by the searing heat of the explosion. The wind, overpowering in its force, propelled me even further through open air. I did not feel myself hit the ground.  
  
There was darkness, I can remember that, but I don't know if I was unconscious, and if I was, for how long. Slowly I felt things coming back to me and the first thing that came to mind was immense pain. I would've screamed had I had the energy. It took everything I had just to keep breathing. I rolled onto my back and found myself at the base of a tree in my backyard. Through the leaves I could see a black shape speed across the sky. The wind no longer whipped around me.  
  
I heard crackling still, somewhat like before. My mind somehow in its haze still functioned on autorun and unconsciously I knew what it had been. The cracks and pops had been wood splitting in the explosion, and by the sound of it, it had not yet stopped.  
  
Darkness seemed to blot out the sky above the tree and my brow furrowed. I caught a strong smell and curious, I forced my body upright. I pulled myself to my feet and turned back toward my house. My knees buckled beneeth me. I clung to the trunk of the tree for dear life as I watched my home go up in flames.  
  
"No...no! Mom! Dad! RON!"  
  
On unsteady legs I rushed back toward the burning building. I knew if I could get in there somehow I could save them. Some might already even be outside, I thought. Everyone would be okay.  
  
But it was all for naught. As I drew closer, a mere five feet from my back door, there was a loud creak. That was the only signal given before the roof collapsed and buried all I loved inside.  
  
Very suddenly I was left with nothing. Everyone was dead, and I was alone.  
  
Ron Stoppable and the entire Possible family were gone.  
  
Including myself.  
  
This was no accident, I knew. Someone had killed my family. If I went to anyone else now - Wade, Monique, anyone - odds are they would be taken too. No...I wouldn't let it happen.  
  
Casting one last glance toward the fallen house, I turned and fled.  
  
Life was hard following that day. I cashed out an emergency fund my family had set up - $50,000. With it, I bought a decent car and rented an appartment in a town about three states away from Middleton (but I still couldn't get far enough away). I furnished it rather simply at first with a bed, small refrigerator, a microwave, a cable tv, and a computer. I wanted to keep as much money as I could. That whole first year I lived off of microwavable meals just to be safe.  
  
I decided I needed a job and worked a series of small ones ranging from a waitress to a life guard at the city pool. Of course, I couldn't look the same as I did before. Kim Possible was supposed to be dead - what would happen if someone spotted her almost a thousand miles away? So I died my hair (but kept it long). It was a very dark blue, almost black. Some people said it looked a little gothic, but must said it was exotic - almost like I'd look foreign if I got a tan. And I did, a light golden brown. I began wearing fake blue lenses to fool people, even though it killed my "exotic" look. But then again, the more unique I looked, the better. I even had a pair of black thin rimmed glasses that I wore when I was out in public.  
  
My name was a problem too. I had to put together a name and profile for myself and some phony background information to prove their "validity" under questionable circumstances. I became known as Tabitha or 'Tabby' by the locals (thanks to a tabby cat owned by the local mechanic which was rubbing along my ankles when he asked my name) before I put together an official one, so I made that my middle name. My full name became Jaclyn Tabitha Rades.  
  
That, my friends, was five years ago. Since then I've, against my better judgement, began another service website - except this time, profitable to my ends. Keeping with the irony of my past name's association with such employment (Kim Possible - Impossible), my online alias became my name shortened - from Jac. T. Rades came Jack Trades. It's been going strong for almost a year now, slowly but surely growing wider in its popularity.  
  
As hard as I try and distance my old life from my new one I can never forget what happened that day. I continue to hunt for clues even to this day regarding what happened. One day I'll find out who took my life away from me and exposed my heaven as a lie.  
  
My name is Jaclyn Rades, and this is my story.

End Prologue

TBC? Review and let me know!


	2. Chapter One: Heir To A Dying Day

Now that the reminiscing is over I'm switching over to third person POV. Makes it a little easier on me. Sorry for the delay in getting this up, folks - school started on me.

The Story of Jaclyn Rades  
Chapter One: Heir To A Dying Day  
  
---&---&---&---  
  
It was noon when the alarm went off in what would seem to anyone like an empty apartment. Clothes littered the single living/bedroom, clean and dirty alike. The soft humming of the air conditioner melded with that of the powered computer against the wall. A floor fan buzzed a bit louder and slight more obnoxiously than the gentle purr of the other two machines.

A large pile of blankets in the middle of the twin bed beneath the window shifted. A low groan emerged from within. Slowly the blankets slid away as a tired young woman sat up on her bed. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head, then sighed heavily. She lay back down and let her arm dangle over the side of her mattress. She punched at the keys of the shrilling digital clock at random until the alarm shut off. She lay there a moment longer, enjoying her waking moment of comfort, before sitting up again and pushing herself off of her bed.

Jaclyn Rades stumbled the few steps to her desk and cut on her computer monitor. A website came up and she smiled to herself. Jack Trades had received a hit.

With a little pep in her step she strolled over to her refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk. She opened it and drank straight from the cardboard spout as she headed for her front door. She slid back the deadbolt and opened the door. She looked down and smiled.

"Hi there, Snickers."

A small cat rubbed at Jaclyn's ankles and responded with a quiet 'myaa.' She knelt and scratched its ears lovingly before stepping over it and heading outside. A milk dish was pushed up to the wall; she poured the remnants of her carton into the bowl. The cat dashed to the dish and began lapping at its contents, meowing its appreciation.

Jaclyn smiled and stood upright. She walked to the end of the second-level complex walkway and leaned on the black iron bars that rose to her waist. A young man about her age was heading back from the mailboxes. She leaned over the gate and called out to him.

"Hey, Spencer!"

He looked up and blinked, then chuckled. "Good morning, Tabby. Heh, or afternoon as the case may be. I trust you slept well."

"Slept well? How'd you know I just woke up?"

"Because you're still in your underwear."

She blinked and looked down. She was wearing a grey bra and navy silk boxers. She looked back at him with a playful grin.

"Yeah, usually when I head out in my underwear I at least try to match."

He laughed and shook his head. "You're a riot, J.T."

Jaclyn's eyes glazed over a little. J.T., her first and middle initials. That's what a lot of her new friends called her, especially Spencer. The first time he'd done it she was almost sure he had said...

She blinked out of her haze as Spencer began to walk underneath her back to his own residence. "See you around, Tabby," he said with a grin. "Don't stay out here too long or you might get busted for indecent exposure."

She looked down at him. His blonde hair and chocolate eyes, even his smile all reminded her of...

"Yeah, see ya Spence," she whispered. She heard a door open and close beneath her and she sighed. She hesitated for a minute then turned and headed back inside.

She never made any attempt to deny her trauma over what had happened to her those five years ago. Even now she still had nightmares. Her anguish drove her into compulsive, sometimes almost obsessive behavior. The smallest things could spark painful memories. As neurotic as it may have sounded to some, she kept her living quarters a mess to repress the flashbacks of her organized family, especially her tidy mother whose last words to her daughter had been a laundry request.

Jaclyn threw her empty milk carton in the trash bin underneath her desk as she sat down. A few keystrokes and clicks of the mouse and she was checking her - or rather, Jack Trades's - messages. A new one set posted at the top of several which were a few days old. Next to it was a black dot.

Jack's website organized its requests by means of small symbols which pegged each new message. Green usually took precedence in a tight situation as it stood for fast money. Yellow, similarly, meant a good bit of money - but most yellow jobs took some time and effort. Red was for an emergency with hopes of quick response, usually medical or criminal. A purple dot signified a highly-sensitive issue, usually government or military related (unsurprisingly, she didn't get very many of them). White was usually a general or broad topic, something which hadn't been covered already. Then finally, there was the black dot. Black was the color given to signify a dangerous job usually given by a very private party. Most black dots paid well too and she tended to make time for them whenever they popped up.

"Dot of Death," she said aloud. She smirked. "Been several months since I've had a black one."

She opened the message and scanned through it.

**  
This is a message for Jack Trades**

**I have a job for you, Trades. First I would like to say that this is very much an illegal operation and if you were to report it, I guarantee I would not be captured. I would like to hire you as an assassin. The pay off is one million dollars cash which I will personally place in your hands should you complete this assignment. If you accept I shall provide you with transportation directly to me so that you may see what I have to offer. More information on the target will be revealed once you've agreed to take the job, but if you have any emotional hang-ups (though I don't count on it), I assure you this person is a long time law-breaker and has a record of murderous behavior. I request a fairly quick response to this offer.**

**D.  
**

Jaclyn stared. An assassination? How absurd! How could she do something like that? She'd done a number of illegal things since she'd taken on her new role in life but had never been forced to kill anyone, let alone willingly done so. No; Kim Possible was no murderer.

...But she wasn't Kim Possible anymore. She was Jack Trades, and Jack was a completely different person. Jack was supposed to be cold-hearted, capable of anything, not restrained by emotions. To Jack, a job was a job - a way of life...that was how it was supposed to be. That's what she wanted it to be.

She was startled out of her thoughts when she heard a telephone ringing faintly. She got up and went to her bed. She pulled the blanket off of it and shook it violently. Other than stirring up some dust near the windowsill, the action seemed fruitless. Jaclyn grunted and instead went to her bathroom. After a quick survey she pulled back her shower curtain. Cursing she headed back into her living room where, after a moment of listening to the incessant trill of the telephone, she opened her refrigerator door. She grabbed the cordless from its place behind the three-day old pizza box and placed it to her ear. She jerked unconsciously. "Christ, that's cold!"

A feminine voice laughed from the other end of the line. Amused, it asked, "The fridge again?"

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Eh, I'm used to it. Besides, it was only seven rings. So, we still on for lunch today?"

"You bet. I even set my alarm so I'd get up in time."

A gasp. "Why Tabby, I'm impressed. Flattered even."

She chuckled. "You should be. Listen, Romy, I need to grab a quick shower and get dressed. I'll meet you at Calloway's in about an hour."

"Okay, I'll bring us both some food so you won't have to run out and get anything. Anything you want in particular?"

"Nah, whatever's good."

"All right, see you in a bit."

Jaclyn clicked off the telephone and set it down next to the kitchen sink, then, on an afterthought, walked it to her desk and set it back on its charger. She grabbed the closest pair of clothes - a shirt on the back of her computer chair and a pair of jeans under the desk - and hurried off to the bathroom. A shower, dressing, and some grooming later, she was ready to go. She fished out her keys from the pocket of a pair of pants in the corner and was off to meet Romy.

Romy Balfour was perhaps Jaclyn Rades's closest friend. She was Jaclyn's age but very free spirited. She was the lead singer of a local band, Less Than Three, in which she dedicated most of her energy. She worked part time to get by whenever her gigs at lounges and coffee houses didn't have a high payoff. The two had first met a few weeks after Jaclyn had moved there. The singer had been visiting a fellow band member in the same apartment complex when they literally ran into each other. A simple apology turned into coffee and a three-hour conversation. That spark of friendship quickly raged into an inferno and almost instantly the two women were inseparable.

Jaclyn had come to trust Romy almost more than she did herself. Aloof but levelheaded and wise, Romy could often look at ever face of a situation, physical and emotional. That, Jaclyn discovered, was exactly what she needed in her life to keep her straight.

Romy became the only person with even the slightest knowledge of her past life - her family, her true name - and it had been through her support that Jack Trades had ever been born.

Jaclyn slowed her car and turned underneath a large cement archway that had the words 'Calloway Estates' inscribed into it.

Calloway Estates was the name of the local park. There was a story about the old park that she always loved to hear, about how almost a hundred years ago, when the town was a small village, it was about to bottom out and was going to have to sell all the territory the settlement rested on when a man a rich man named Ethan Calloway bought many acres of land surrounding the village then gave it back to the citizens. Because of him the village was saved and even expanded into the town she lived in today. The site of the old village was now a park in the very heart of the town. Jaclyn only hoped that one day she could do something so great.

She followed one of the roads back toward her and Romy's meeting place. Whenever the two went to the park they always met in the same spot. A small stream lead south into Lake Calloway, a favored fishing hole near the far back end of the park. Silver birch trees lined the banks of the water in a spot where a beaten path secretly lay, fashioned in the wood by two women who had sought adventure to satiate their boredom. The stream (as it was virtually unknown) was tranquil and hushed. It was their way to escape.

Jaclyn parked near the dock of Lake Calloway and made her way into the surrounding foliage. Where a normal visitor would've been lost amongst the tall trees and high grasses, she continued headlong without diffidence. She knew what awaited her and found it easily. A path emerged and she followed it undaunted until she could hear the rushing water of a nearby stream. It slowly came to view. Sitting against a thin birch was Romy, munching on a small bag of potato chips. She looked up toward Jaclyn as she approached.

"About time you showed up."

Her response was a shrug as she sat down next to her friend and asked, "Get my food?"

Romy nodded and handed her a plastic Subway bag. "Turkey breast, cheddar, and mayo on white, just like always."

"Mmm great," she said, pulling out her sandwich and taking a large bite. Romy shook her head.

"Mayonnaise on cheese and turkey...I swear you have the strangest tastes."

"Hey it's good. Want a bite?"

"Uh, no thanks. Still working on my chips."

Jaclyn nodded and went back to her sandwich. There was silence for a bit as they ate but before long Romy was crumpling up her empty chip bag and shoving it into her own Subway sack. "So," she started, wiping the grease from her hands onto her jeans, "where are we going to go once this place is torn down?"

Jaclyn almost choked on her food. "Torn down? What are you talking about?"

"Didn't you hear? They're clearing out the lake."

"What? Why?"

"The council got news from the governor that he wants to tear down the park piece by piece for lodging purposes. The whole south side of Calloway is getting leveled."

"That's ridiculous! Why does the governor want housing here? Why not somewhere else?"

"Because people just love to visit little old-fashioned towns like this one. The greedy bastard just wants to turn a buck."

Jaclyn sighed heavily and tossed the remnants of her sandwich back into its bag, suddenly not hungry anymore. She stared at the water flowing in the stream almost wearily. Her mood was back in the gutter, much like it had been before Romy called. Her thoughts circled back to that job request and she became even more disheartened.

"Tabby?"

She sighed. "Hmn?"

"Is something else bothering you?"

Jaclyn hesitated a moment. "I got a hit on the site today," she said, keeping her gaze on the water.

"Oh yeah? What kind?"

Another sigh, this time softer. "Like I said, it was a 'hit'...it's an assassination job."

Silence. Jaclyn closed her eyes, almost expecting to be berated. Instead she heard Romy say quietly, "On whom?"

"I don't know. The contractor said they'd let me know more after I accepted the job. They tried to make it pretty obvious that whoever it was deserved it though, like this person was some sort of murderer."

"So what're you going to do?"

"...I so badly want to say no, but...there's something pulling at me. I don't know what it is, instinct maybe, telling me I should go for it..."

Romy was silent for a moment, as if mentally prepping, then spoke: "Throughout my life I've learned that if you've got that gnawing feeling deep in your gut, you should follow it; and that sometimes sacrifices have to be made. I'm not much on capitol punishment, but sometimes justice is necessary...and if this person is entitled that, then you make the choice. Maybe it's not your place to take away life, but if what your contractor says is true, it wasn't their place either. Ridding the world of a killer, you'd be a sort vigilante...but vigilantes are always heroes to someone...the one who asked for your help..."

She paused and placed her hand over her friend's. "They could be just like you, Kim...and maybe, just maybe, if you can get yourself back into the underworld, you can find out what really happened to your family."

Jaclyn opened her eyes and stared at the stream, letting the words sink in. In her heart she knew Romy was right. She sighed softly. "It just makes me sound so selfish..."

"You're the heir to a dying day, Kim - but the sun will always rise again."  
  
---&---&---&---  
  
The sun had long since set when Jaclyn found herself sitting in front of her computer again. She stared at the message in front of her, remembering everything Romy had said. That gut instinct had only grown stronger, but she still had her reservations; however the more she meditated on the advice she was given, the more distant those inhibitions seemed. She poised her fingertips over her keyboard and closed her eyes briefly.

_You're the heir to a dying day, Kim - but the sun will always rise again._

She opened her eyes again and stared at the screen not only as Jack Trades, but as Kim Possible, who at this very moment had been reborn somewhere deep inside.

"I accept."

---&---End Chapter One---&---


	3. Chapter Two: Distant Sun

Allo minna! Wow, haven't written anything in freaking ages man. Well, that's a lie. I haven't typed anything in ages, I've been writing in notebooks in my spare time and I'm too lazy to transfer all such stuff. I've got all Thanksgiving break to write now though...okay, well, the first half. I've got to help my girlfriend move in too D

The Story of Jaclyn Rades   
Chapter Two: Distant Sun

---&---&---&---

The response was almost immediate. She hadn't even left her chair when the message came through.

**Excellent. Name the location and a privately owned plane will pick you up at 2:00pm tomorrow. Come unpacked. I will provide you with any necessary equipment for the job upon your arrival. Don't be late.**

**D.**

Jaclyn sighed. With the adrenaline from her mental pep having worn off she was back to doubting herself again. With shaky fingers she named an airport about two hundred miles away, one of a dozen she'd picked as possible terminals for safe travel. The airfields fanned out in all directions, anywhere from thirty to three hundred miles away. She'd yet to use a terminal more than once. It made it harder to trace the elusive Jack Trades.

She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her phone. She fluidly dialed a number and made her way to her bed. As she flopped heavily onto the mattress there was a click as the ringing was replaced by an answering machine.

"Hi this is Romy! Me and the guys have gone to pick up Rem and Buster at the station then it's off to the Locket! We'll be back around midnight. Leave us some love!"

Jaclyn frowned. She'd forgotten about Remy completely.

Remy Balfour was Romy's fraternal twin sister. Romy was the elder between the two but sadly her birth had caused complications for her younger sister. As a tragic result, Remy was born blind. Remy lived with the twins' older cousin, Dane, in a small city some several hours away. Every few months she'd come for a visit with Buster, her eight-year-old yellow Labrador she'd raised from a puppy to be her seeing-eye dog. Jaclyn loved to visit Remy and was sad she was going to miss her and their usual mischief at July's Locket, the town's only decent bar.

"Well, shit happens," she muttered to herself as the beep followed Romy's message and signaled the recorder. "Hey Rom," she said to the machine, "it's Tabby. I'm leaving tomorrow morning and wanted to know if you'd look after Snickers for me. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but I'll do my best to call. Tell Remy I said hi, and give Buster a Milkbone for me. Love you guys! See ya!"

Jaclyn cut off her phone and let all the false enthusiasm she'd injected for the message drop away. She tossed the phone onto the floor and pulled the cover of her bed up over her head, not even bothering to undress and turn out the light. All she wanted to do was sleep.

---&---&---&---

A black Jeep Wrangler pulled into Lakeland Airfield and screeched to a stop near the gate at exactly 1:58 pm. A very harried Jack Trades stumbled out of the driver's seat.

"Holy hell I made it!"

Her quick sleep attempt the previous night had caused Jaclyn to forget something very critical – setting her alarm clock. It was almost 10:30 when she finally woke up, forty-five minutes later than she'd originally intended. What followed was a number of traffic violations (among speeding and negligence, she was sure she'd fled the scene of an accident a few miles back...) as she flew down the highway to reach her destination on time.

She walked into the cabin designated 'Private Charter' and looked around. A few people lounged in chairs reading magazines off to her right. Two men walked past her, laughing to themselves. Near the back stood a man dressed in a long-sleeve red business shirt and black slacks. He was leaning against a wall, the door that led out back to the strip directly at his right. There was an emblem on the breast of his shirt, an intricately sewn Old English letter D.

Nodding to herself she approached the man. "Excuse me," she said, "but are you the pilot who'll be flying me today?"

He almost seemed to scoff at her. "I doubt it. I'm waiting for a passenger by the name of Jack Trades."

She couldn't help but give him a satisfied smirk. "That would be me. Are you going to get my car cleared for long-term parking or are we going to run late?"

The man glared at her for her arrogance but grunted and pushed himself off the wall. "Wait here," he muttered, and headed to check everything in with the airport personnel.

Jack settled herself on the arm of a nearby lounge chair and picked up a magazine. She flipped through the pages at random just to entertain herself, stopping only every few pages to glance through an article.

It wasn't long before the pilot came back and walked up to her and said in a gruff sounding voice, "Let's go."

She looked up from her magazine and smirked. "What, you mean now? But don't you want to find out about the most recent escapades of Bat Boy?" She flashed him the cover of her World Weekly News tabloid.

He rolled his eyes and headed toward the door to the runway. She set the magazine down and followed after him. "So," she asked as they walked out onto the strip, "everything set?"

"Yes."

"You set my car up for the parking?"

"Yes."

"How'd you know which one was mine?"

He stopped and whipped around so fast that Jack almost crashed straight into him. He glared down at her menacingly. "It was the jeep that was parked crooked right outside the door, you know, the black one with tire marks on the pavement behind it? Are you done asking stupid questions?"

She smiled at him. "Maybe so."

He growled and turned back around, stalking ever closer to a red and white Cessna Skyhawk. It was a small single engine airplane with a design much like the stereotype model of a privately owned flyer. It honestly looked like something she saw a neighbor kid flying with a remote control a few days ago.

"Get in," the man grunted as he climbed up into his seat. She nodded and got in on the passenger side but, upon noticing that the plane was a four-seater rather than a dual, quickly climbed into the back to further herself from her rather disagreeable aviator. He didn't say another word to Jack as he placed his headset over his ears and began working with the airplane. She pulled hers on also, though without the purpose of speaking to the pilot. Her only purpose for them was only to aid in blocking out the loud roar from the engine. As far as she was concerned the trip would be much more pleasant without having to hear from him.

He must've picked up on her thoughts because shortly after she'd set them on Jack heard a static crackling, followed by the rough man's condescending voice saying, "You may as well suck it up girl – you're going to be spending a lot of time with me. This is a five and a half hour flight."

"I'm thrilled," Jack deadpanned into her microphone.

But she was to be appeased – aside from the obnoxious noises from the plane the rest of the flight was in silence.

---&---&---&---

It was an hour from dusk when the Skyhawk touched down on a small concrete strip. Jack found herself standing on a small, privately owned island not unlike the type she'd seen in missions passed. Contrastingly, however, all that seemed to exist there was a house. No laboratory, no factory, no top-secret military base or scientific facility, just a nice, if large and ornate-looking, house. She blinked at the simple normality she witnessed, then scowled – normal people didn't live that lavishly, nor did they order hits on people.

She felt a shove in the middle of her back and stumbled forward. She spun around to glare at the pilot. He seemed undaunted. "Go on," he barked, "hurry up!"

And do what, she wondered. Was she really just going to go up and ring this guy's doorbell? It just seemed a little odd; after all, this wasn't your run-of-the-mill sort of drop in. She'd already had some preconceived idea about a meeting in a dark alley somewhere to talk to a man in a long trench coat with a 1940's style fedora hat lowered so far as to cover his face. Needless to say, Hollywood's perception of these kinds of things wasn't doing her any favors.

At length her adored pilot came up behind her and said in her ear, "You want to know how to get someone to come to the door?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Knock."

"Fuck you," she snapped agitatedly. He smirked sardonically and she spun away from him, stomping toward the door. Exacerbated as she was, the man had had a point. With renewed purpose she approached the large, elegantly decorated door and knocked heavily four times. She stood with her hands in her pockets, anxiously sucking on her teeth and bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. She cast a look back toward the pilot. He was back in the Skyhawk, starting it up again with the intent of taxiing it further down the runway. She glared in his direction. He hadn't done anything, but it made her feel better.

She heard the door start to squeak open and whipped back around, throwing on her best cool demeanor. A slightly older man in a dress suit opened the door wide and waved his hand toward the interior as if to bade her welcome. "Please," he said with a smile, "do come in, Miss Trades. My employer asks that you meet him downstairs in his private study. Please follow me."

Downstairs? Wasn't she on ground floor? The butler closed the door behind her and led her across a spacious and stately foyer. She had to marvel at the beautiful construction of the house's interior. Brightly lit chandeliers dangled majestically from the ceiling. Four wide balconies seemed to float on air above her. Leading to them were gently sloping spiral staircases of white marble with hand-carved mahogany railings. Renaissance-style paintings and statues offset the room perfectly. Behind the balconies she could see rows and rows of books. For a man who kills people, she thought to herself, he had wonderful tastes in design.

The butler led her to a large door on the far end of the grand entrance hall and opened it for her. "Here you are, Miss," he said politely. "Just as the bottom of these stairs."

"Thank you," Jack answered. The butler smiled and shut the door behind her.

She couldn't see much going down the stairs as they, too, were spiraled. She did notice, however, that these were not nearly so handsome. These stairs were made of a blue-tinted cement. Cracks ran along the wall (constructed with the same color cement), signifying a lack of interest in up keeping. There were no decorations and the lighting was dim, though it did seem to get brighter as she descended.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase she located another door. It was a thickly cut wooden door like the kinds in most schoolrooms. It was left ajar and she could see brighter light radiating from within. Straitening her form to appear more professional Jack pushed open the door and walked inside.

She found herself in what seemed like a workroom for the technology aspiring. Large computers lined the walls. Chemicals and papers were scattered everywhere along with random gears and springs. All in all she felt like she'd walked into the lair of a madman, and for all she knew, she had.

"Thank you for coming," said a male voice from behind her. Jack whirled around, her defenses up and ready for attack, and gasped.

"Is it the blue skin?" he asked with a smile. "I get that a lot."

"Drakken!?"

Jack stared. Was this really her arch-nemesis of old? He seemed so much older than she'd last seen and more so than only five years. He wore his hair down outside his old ponytail. It had grown out a bit, she could tell. Also she could notice a patch of grey streaking back over his right eye. His manner seemed calmer and more friendly too, hardly threatening at all.

He blinked then laughed. "Oh, so you've heard of me, have you? Well I appreciate the recognition, I didn't know I was so popular."

She cursed inwardly. She shouldn't have said anything. Groping for a quick response she lied, "I did a report in high school on high-intensity crime. Your name came up."

He chuckled. "I imagine so, especially since I haven't used that name since my criminal days. Feel free to call me Drew."

"Uh, okay, Drew. So what got you out of crime? Pardon my curiosity."

"Eh, a number of things really. I guess what tipped it was my partner and I split ways."

Jack, though curious, was sure to feign naïveté. "Oh, that one girl...Shego, right?"

He physically tensed at the name, then took a deep breath and chuckled. "You remember much from your high school days. I wish I could. Yes, that's her. I was the brain, she was the brawn. Sadly there was an accident about..." he paused to think, "five years ago. Wow, was it really that long ago...anyway, we had a fight over it, and she picked up and left. Of course I wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet and set out to find a replacement. But then, the best thing in the world than can happen to a man happened to me."

"And that was?"

He smiled brightly at her. "Marriage, Miss Trades, marriage. I met the most wonderful woman, and we married almost on the spot. Because of her I stopped my criminal ways and turned into the respectable scientist I am today."

Jack bit her tongue. Respectable?

"I graduated with a high level degree in engineering you see, and rather than put that to work for evil, I decided to turn over a new leaf, so to speak. I wanted my family to be happy and safe. So I went to work, and have since created and marketed numerous new alloys of metal and steel that are much stronger and more durable than their predecessors. By marketed, I mean, sold them to credible buyers – construction companies, police forces, and the like. I didn't get involved in the military," he said with a small laugh, "because I knew then I'd just be causing more trouble."

Jack nodded. "Of course."

He smiled. "Joy was so proud of me too. It was wonderful."

"Joy?"

"My wife. She was a fine woman. Very artistic, very cultured...you may have noticed the different levels in décor from here in my study compared to the upstairs foyer. That was her doing. And she was so good at it. You should see my daughter's room."

Jack almost swallowed her tongue. Drakken a father? Or husband for that matter! He hardly seemed the family man type; at least that was true of the man she'd known. But yet here she stood, ever patiently waiting for the name of the man she'd escort to his divine maker. Not all had changed it seemed.

"Was?" she asked, adding emphasis on his word choice.

Suddenly the man's face grew very solemn. He turned his back to her and walked toward one of his many cluttered desks. As he drew closer to the table Jack noticed something strangely out of place there. Amongst the mass of papers there was a small stuffed animal – a white bunny rabbit to be precise. It sat upright with one ear flopped down over its face. She watched as the scientist very lightly brushed his fingers over the toy's fine fur.

"I got this for Lydia's fourth birthday. Joy insisted that we not spoil her and buy her heaps of toys as a child despite the wealth we'd amassed. She said that our daughter was going to grow up appreciating what she had. Heh, if it had been solely my choice I'd have spoiled her rotten, given her everything her little heart desired...but Joy was right...she always was..."

"What happened?" Jack asked. She wasn't sure if it had been a question out of curiosity or compassion, but either way was drawn into the story.

"You know, Lydia was born just three days after Joy's birthday. Joy deserved a present too. She loved the Caribbean, so I booked her a seven-day cruise. Lydia too." He laughed. "Joy could never stand to leave Lydia behind."

He paused to take a shaky breath. She could see he was trembling.

"But then, that...that _bitch_...she...she was there too. I know she was because I checked the passenger log and she was _there!_ I know it was her fault! She did it just to spite me; she's always hated me! I know she sank that ship! Joy and Lydia...she...she took them away from me!"

He roared and slammed his fists down on the desk. Jack heard the crack of wood splitting reverberate off the walls. Then she heard a strangled sob, and then there was silence.

She said nothing. Vaguely she remembered a Caribbean cruise ship having sunk some six or eight months ago. She felt a deeply rooted pang of sympathy. He'd lost his family, all he loved, and wanted revenge...just like her.

The distraught man didn't move. Then in a low voice she heard him say, "I want her dead. She murdered my family...and I want you to kill her for me."

She could barely breathe. A tumult of pain and anguish engulfed the room and Jack felt torn. She wanted so much to cry, to scream, to die.

All the negativity she'd thrown at this man since she'd first received her mission, how she thought him a murderer and the scum of the earth...and very suddenly she realized that she'd become exactly like him.

"All right," she whispered.

"There's a room, prepared for you," he spoke slowly. "Head back to the lobby. Felix will lead you to, to your quarters. You make take this time to read the profile on your target."

She watched him for a moment to see if he was going to escort her to the door or give her some more instructions. He didn't. Slowly she turned and proceeded back up the stairs.

The butler from before, Felix, took her upstairs to her room. He informed her that supper would be served within the hour then left her to her business.

She spotted a small manila folder lying on the foot of her bed. After picking it up she moved to sit on the windowsill. From there she had a wonderful westward view out over the ocean. She opened the folder and as she looked at the picture of her intended target let a single name slip from her lips.

"Shego..."

And behind her a distant sun slipped beneath the waves.

---&---End Chapter Two---&---


End file.
